


Love Saves

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 18:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: A Cupid AU. This is the longest single chapter piece I've ever written. Cupids exist. Set over season 1.





	Love Saves

John Watson trudged through the park, not enjoying his down time at all but he was on his way to a meeting with Mike Stamford so hopefully things would improve soon. People thought of cupids as chubby babies with bows and arrows but Cupids did more than just bring couples together. Love worked a shit load harder than just igniting the odd soul mate spark. Love healed, comforted, inspired, guarded… and Cupids where the guides and guardians of Love regardless of what form it took. Also John was bored… He wasn’t like Mike who trained Cupids at the hospital where hearts broke, died, and new ones were born, all needing Love in some form. John was a BattleCupid so wherever hearts were at war, there, for the sake of Love stood John Watson and it had nearly cost him a wing but he loved the work. It was his life. He had just returned from Afghanistan where his chances had been few but vital. The kindness shown to local children by soldiers missing their own beloved kids, the love a soldier felts when adopting a stray kitten… John was proud of those. He was a doctor, he’d taken work as a field surgeon so that when hearts ended his presence wouldn’t be questioned. All hearts had to leave with love.

John felt an ache in his injured shoulder, the bullet had fucked things up and the therapy for the arm still took the wind out of him. Worse still was his wing. The bullet had ripped through bone, muscle, and tendons but it shouldn’t have been able to shatter his wing. It shouldn’t have been able to touch it. The damage had mystified the MediCupids back home and the phrase “Caring is not an advantage” had actually passed his own lips. He quickly suppressed a shudder because that hurt it too… Had he been too close, had he bonded too strongly, deeply with his team. John scowled at the pavement as he considered his lost men. He had been their Captain, their doctor and he was supposed to be close to them. And James, James Sholto's disgrace and his resultant withdrawal from the world and even from John had done it’s own damage but he shook off the depressing thoughts before they could spread. He had loved his CO, against good advice and almost against his will. But the damage was done and now he had to just deal with it.

Mike sat on the bench waiting for John, he rustled his immaterial wings, excited to introduce him to his next potential charge. He knew the BattleCupid had been injured and while Cupids didn’t fly, a wing out of commission was uncomfortable. Cupid wings weren’t for flight, they were made of emotion. Beating wings could blow away foul moods, delicately shiver up joy, and feathers could slowly stroke smoldering lust to Passion’s blaze. He explained all this ad-nauseam to his new recruits when they found out that they couldn’t fly and would stir up a hysterical crowd trying. As each student knew, having made the choice, a soul could become a Cupid and help others for the span of one human life time but Only every three hundred years then it was back to the reincarnation pool. They would know all about their own kind only from the time of their arrival and would keep that knowledge just for the life cycle or the burden would grow too great. Poor John was not even half way through his service and his retirement looked likely. Hopefully this next post would lift his mood...

“It’s an interesting case John.” “I’m a BattleCupid Mike, just because I got shot doesn’t make me a baby sitter, how at war can one man be. It’ll be a few weeks of couple’s therapy and he will have her back, right as rain.” “John.” Mike said patiently for the third time. “He’s at war. His heart is at war with his mind and his body. His soul is shutting down John. He is trying desperately not to let himself feel, let alone be loved. He’s just out of rehab, uppers so his heart has physically been under strain and there’s been so much nonsense from his childhood.” Mike pursed his lips. “Mike how bad can it be?” John chuckled at the strained look, it didn’t suit the GuideCupid who was an endless fount of patience and of course Love. “He’s Mycroft Holmes’ brother.” John and Mike exchanged a look. Mycroft Holmes had waged a quiet campaign against Cupids in the government, claiming their emotional focus was illogical and ill suited to serious work. Very few people knew of Cupids as they blended in well but Love Save the man or woman who was caught out by Mycroft because they always lost credibility. “So, not a babysitter then?” “No John not a babysitter but there’s a heart that needs to be saved. Okay?”

~~~

It was the first 24 hours and John was reevaluating his mission. He’d seen Sherlock disregard people’s feelings and insult those who clearly cared about him, for Love's Sake the only person he seemed affectionate with was his landlady and no wonder, she was a Cupid too. Close to the end of her life cycle but John had felt her shake her wings in delight when Sherlock had brought him through the door and she’d offered him a cuppa Cupid to Cupid, just this once. Mycroft had also got hold of him but the man wasn’t as daunting as others claimed, not when you’ve lived in a war zone for half your life. He had stated his loyalty to his charge and his intentions to heal Sherlock’s heart before walking away from the pompous ass slowly sending drifts of peace behind him. He was unsure of how effective his injured wing was but the confrontation had happened and at least it was over.

~~~

Sherlock studied his new flatmate, clearly a Cupid like Mrs Hudson but was John on assignment or just looking for a place to stay. Sherlock’s mind coiled in on itself, he didn’t need fixing and Mrs Hudson had been the only one whose help he had accepted; when he had just returned from rehab and felt so overwhelmingly lonely. The heart support she had given by wrapping him in rarely manifested wings, it had hurt to feel so much but he had been able to breath again after a few hours. She loved him like a mother and the memory still made his eyes burn before he could shove it back down. John however just trotted about seeming quite content or was it Sherlock who was content to have the army doctor beside him and always just one pace behind him when he raced through London. Sherlock suspected that John might be causing his contentment and he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much that John might be here on assignment, might not actually just be here for him. The state and position of John’s wings would tell him so he snuck off to his room to fetch the sonar scanner he had doctored, it was all a question of frequencies and his field tests had been successful so far. The sonar’s pulse shifted the molecules in the wings from the invisible frequency of Feelings to the frequencies of visible light. There were at least seven other Cupids in the area apart from Mike Stamford and Hudders. The scan seemed to have some noticeable affect on the subject but John was distracted by preparing supper, so just a quick check wouldn’t do any harm.

John was enjoying meal prep, the Army had fed him for so long he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the process of simply preparing a meal. A wave of anticipation washed over his wings from the passage behind him before he gave a startled yelp of pain as his injured wing stung suddenly. John turned to see Sherlock staring at him in dismay, the bastard has forced his wings to start manifesting! The wrecked plumage of John’s injured left wing was suddenly on display! John was furious, tucking his wings against his back he winced as the reflexive movement caused a sharp twinge. “That scan was inconclusive John! Your injury made you move your wings before I could study their position!” John took a deep breath and reminded himself that Love was patient and kind so he avoided Sherlock’s nose and teeth when he punched him in the face, again flinching as muscles flexed across his back, bloody manifest wings, it hurt and slowed his healing too. So he watched Sherlock think his actions through as he faded his wings back to the frequencies of Feelings.

“I’m sorry John. The other subjects had shown no signs of pain but your injury clearly…” Sherlock trailed off as he began to feel, being socked in the face by a Cupid apparently carried more weight than just a fist. Some of John’s pain and embarrassment… no Shame, John was ashamed of this improbable injury and Sherlock felt it through the lingering energy of the blow. Sherlock watched white wings sag and fade as he processed what his flatemate had been feeling; contentment, joy, pleasure… John hadn’t cooked in a long time and was enjoying preparing their meal until Sherlock had hurt him with the sonar scanner and ruined it. Shame, Empathetic shame he realised. It burned Sherlock’s cheeks and ears. “I really am sorry John. I got a bit of your, you, feelings in the punch… I just wanted to be sure if you were here because you wanted to or if this was just an assignment.”

John glared at the git he’d saddled himself with but it couldn’t last, Sherlock looked so sad and a little in shock. “Of course I’m here on assignment Sherlock but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I can choose you know and I chose this. How did you do that any way and needless to say if you ever do that again I’ll kill you in your sleep.” The two shared a shaky laugh before Sherlock handed the unit over. It had been carefully calibrated to function in the frequencies of Feelings. There looked to be miles of complex wiring so he reached in delicately and pulled out a handful of it, once, twice before putting the unit down the table and turning to his stricken charge. “This exposes us, Cupids. Sherlock Mycroft knows about Cupids and I imagine he warned you of them?” Sherlock nodded still a bit dumbstruck by John’s actions. “Mycroft is known among us as being heavily prejudiced, he’s made quite a few people’s lives difficult and destroyed the careers of many because he doesn’t think we can function in any responsible roles. He knows about me and I think the only reason I’m still here is because I stood up to him. He must be used to the GuideCupids and the novices at the hospital.” John gave a rueful grin but Sherlock’s face lit up.

“You stood up to my brother, he must have been irate or very impressed. Were you dropped off outside by Mycroft’s car?” “No, I left and caught a taxi.” “Impressed then, had you irritated him he would have had the driver drop you off at the door to keep an eye on you. Impressing him results in a bit of shock for my dear brother. Always knocks him off his busy-bodying for a few minutes.” Sherlock was chagrined as he collected his destroyed device. “I know my brother’s opinions John. I was always careful to test it on people walking alone.” “It’s an amazing feat of ingenuity Sherlock but it’s just not okay. Did you ever test it on Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock felt his gut clench. “John!” but he couldn’t quite find the words.

John breathed a sigh of relief at Sherlock’s appalled expression. Clearly he had more respect for the elderly lady than he did for strangers and John opened his mouth to say something but just wasn’t sure what. They both stood with mouths full of teeth in the kitchen for an endless moment before Sherlock moved to sit down. John returned to making dinner and felt Sherlock’s anxiety but waited for him to talk. While he slowly added ingredients to the pot Sherlock explained his drug addiction, the rehab, and Mrs Hudson’s hours of heart 1st aid on his first night in Baker street. John nodded quietly and kept stirring as Sherlock seemed determined to explain himself to the table top. “I’m glad she was here, sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. She’s retired as I’m sure you already know. Retirees aren’t as strong as active Cupids but they provide guidance and form the Council. Our governing body” Sherlock nodded at the table again and John slid a bowl of soup into his line of sight.

“Is this a Cupid thing? Feeding me.” “Not really, this is more of an actual doctor thing. You’re underweight and the whole no food on cases idea baffles me to be honest. It’s pea soup, eat it.” “Before it eats me I suppose" The quizzical look John gave him told Sherlock that John was not exaggerating, he must have spent half his life in a war zone to not know Harry Potter but the soup was good and Sherlock had to acknowledge that he was more willing to eat John’s cooking than his own. His cooking was still Uni dorm room food but John cooked like he meant it… John cooked with love! Sherlock spooned down the soup as he considered John’s damaged wing and Mrs Hudson’s retirement. He could ask the latter about the former. She was on this Council and John’s senior, who better to provide guidance in helping one of her own. Feeling quite clever he scraped his bowl clean before showing the evidence of his finished meal to John and returning to the couch to plan his approach.

John grinned at Sherlock’s empty bowl, he had no idea how the ritual had started, maybe it was the endless focus on evidence and proofs but whenever Sherlock finished a meal John would be presented with his empty dish as if for approval. He was glad Sherlock seemed occupied as he needed to see to his wing, upstairs, in his room, far away from curious geniuses.

~~~

Martha Hudson smiled as she let a rather nervous looking Sherlock into her flat, he looked excited but also like he was waiting for the sky to fall in on him so she made tea and left him a bit of silence to fill. “I hurt John!” He blurted out before explaining about his silly contraption and the mess of John’s feathers. “Our wings are emotions dear, ours and those we are charged with. Your John is a BattleCupid and he’s taken some damage but they’re an odd lot really, I was a Guide like Mike. John will heal, that man’s soul always chooses Cupid, every chance it gets. No telling how bad the damage is but maybe that’s why he’s here… He needs to heal Sherlock and so do you. Now that brother of yours is going to try and cause our poor John more problems so you’d best look after him!” Sherlock explained the confrontation with a wicked grin. Low and behold, Love's Bliss it would seem John set a tick in Mycroft’s ear! She heard Sherlock give a reactionary chuckle as her wings shivered in delight. John Watson was clearly the right choice.

A while later and feeling much wiser in the ways of wings Sherlock went back upstairs. Mrs Hudson’s joy at his brother’s unsettling experience with the BattleCupid had done wonders for his mood so he put it to good use raiding John’s room to put all his wing paraphernalia in their bathroom. Surely John would be more comfortable seeing to them there, the light was better too and of course there was always the chance Sherlock would see his wings more often.

~~~

John had taken a few days to adjust to his wing kit in a shared space. He’d been given the thing at the hospital, combs, splints, and ointments and while Sherlock’s offer to assist him was sincere he knew the mad scientist also wanted to get his hands on his feathers. He dutifully manifested them each evening to check the healing and change dressings which was in fact easier to do in proper lighting. Sherlock had busted in on him during their first month together but his inability to physically touch John’s wings had lead to a sulk, John’s explanation that the touch required Love didn’t help things either so John had been left in peace thereafter.

Finding a job on the other hand was not so peaceful, his PTSD diagnosis had somehow found it’s way into his public records. No A&E in London would take him on now and the only place he found was a small family clinic run by a mildly apologetic woman. Well of course he was overqualified! John was made for combat not stuffy noses and aching knees. His frustrated venting to Sherlock yielded a shocking phone call between the brothers, Sherlock was furious that Mycroft had violated his Cupid’s medical privacy and no, he was not really pleased to have John at his beck and call for all but three days of the week. Sherlock fumed, silently for once, as John forbid him from further confrontation with his sibling, things could get worse. John had seen it happen before and at least it gave him time to work on his blog. Ella, not a Cupid but a competent professional, had advised him to blog about his experiences so he did…….

…The first Blog Post…

I called it A Study in Pink. A serial killing cabby had almost killed Sherlock but a chance burst aneurism killed him before they could take the damn pills, lucky that. No one could make shit like this up, though I certainly couldn’t mention standing in the opposite building sending the cabby's heart rate skyrocketing with a wave of anxiety. I only have one good wing but it got the job done.

…

It had happened after the serial killer cabby case. Sherlock had put one and one together and come up with - John had killed the cabby. Sherlock didn’t know what to do with this knowledge it seemed too precious to speak out loud, that John had killed to save his life. As a Cupid he functioned through feelings and Love, how could he have killed a father… What Love would allow him to do that. Hours of spinning thoughts later Sherlock deduced that John loved him! There was no other explanation. This was not just another job, his Cupid loved him so that evening Sherlock had wrapped his arms around the smaller man. “You love me, you killed him didn’t you.” John had gaped for a few seconds before he’d settled into Sherlock’s hold and just nodded. “You Love me John.” A tear leaked down Sherlock’s face but it was kissed away before gentle lips met his own, John was kissing him and if this was what love felt like he hoped it never stopped. “Oh Love's sweet Bliss, your lips.” John breathed the phrase like a prayer against his skin before climbing into his arms. Sherlock smiled as he held on tightly, marveling at the strength in John’s lightened frame. Strong arms, powerful despite their hollow bones, wrapped around his shoulders and John kept kissing him ravenously.

The mood shattered though when snow white wings began to manifest, unfurled from John’s back causing him to start at the sudden pain. Sherlock froze at the aborted cry remembering the BattleCupid’s abrupt response to the last bought of wing pain which had been brought on by Sherlock and his scanner. John blinked at Sherlock’s stilled face. “No, no Lovely, I won’t hurt you. I’m so sorry I reacted like that, I’ll never harm you again my LovelyLove.” John stroked his curls as he spoke and the frisson it sent down Sherlock’s spine was instantly addicting as he carried his Cupid to what was would hopefully be their bedroom. John loved him and it felt extraordinary.

…The next Blog Post…

The Blind Banker was next, I told the tale of Chinese smugglers but left out nearly getting my employer killed. I may have also omitted sending drifts of fear into our captors. It was just a few feathers push and I certainly had plenty fear to spare. Sherlock showed up to save the day just in time and stayed to comfort rather than chase the bad guys. I was so proud of him.

…

Sherlock was collecting some fresh scones from Mrs Hudson for their latest success when he decided to ask the vital question. “Mrs Hudson, do you think John is healing? I mean his wings have been drooping for days now. He always has them out too, intangible like you said, which he never used to and they always look, well sad. Even when he smiles. I don’t know how to heal a Cupid…” Sherlock's rambling trailed off at the bright smile on her face. “Sherlock, you can see John’s wings all the time now? Even when he doesn’t manifest them. You love him don’t you... That’s why you can see them.” Sherlock felt his heart race, his face fell slack at the shock. “Yes, I love him! But how does that help his wings?”

Mrs Hudson smiled, for a genius and a Cupid these two really were a bit dim. “His wings look sad Sherlock because your Beloved is sad. You love him, but he doesn’t know and we’re beings of Love Sweetheart. Tell him, he needs to know.” The mad boy paled but was out her door almost before she finished speaking. A swift kiss on the cheek and then he vanished.

“John! John!” Sherlock raced upstairs where John was making some post-case tea with a lot of brandy. He stared at John, wings still held low and a small sob escaped him. ”How can you not know?!” Looping his arms around John’s trim waist he held on until the white wings popped into true intangibility. “Know what, you lunatic?” John shifted in his arms, he was always uncomfortable when his wings started manifesting. “That I love you, John I love you.” And with perfect faith in that Love he reached up and sank his fingers into John’s feathers, cloth ripped as the wings became reality. His Cupid collapsed with a groan shaking against him as Sherlock eased his fingers through the softness. They brightened at his touch, glowing brighter and warmer until Sherlock couldn’t touch them, couldn’t see anything in their light. He cried out as John dropped from his arms to the floor but Mrs Hudson held him back. She had dashed upstairs when John’s wings had started to warm and with astonishing authority she told Sherlock not to touch his burning partner until the light faded.

It took three hours.

John woke up on the lounge floor with Mrs Hudson carding her weathered fingers through his hair. “You with me Soldier?” She quipped seeing his eyes open. John chuckled to himself then braced for the pain, there was none. He’d surely jostled his wing. Pushing himself to his knees he peered over his shoulder, he was healed. The splints held whole bones and a stable joint in place. “Surely you’ve not forgotten the power of Love little Cupid?” She continued her affections and John was grateful for the steadying effect on his heart. “Sherlock?” “Sent him for a take away, you’re going to need food John and Lots of it after that burn. He really does love you.” And as if on cue the street door opened and shut. He was just reaching for the splints and dressings when her hands stopped him firmly. “He will free your wing John. Let him" “He already did.” Pulling the elder Cupid into an embrace John smiled up as Sherlock barreled into the room, his charge, his partner, his lover.

Sherlock dropped to his knees beside John and put a large take away on the table, Indian by the smell of it. John’s favourite. “John, are you okay Beloved?” Sherlock's concern waved over John’s mind with that word of affection and without a second thought he extended his bound wing to the man who loved him.

Mrs Hudson had made a quiet retreat as Sherlock unwrapped John’s beautiful wing, easing the splints away and carefully aligning bent feathers until a quiet moan caught his attention. John was clinging to Sherlock’s shoulder with his red face hidden under his other wing. “Like that do you?” Sherlock stroked the other wing away gently. John climbed into Sherlock’s lap, still red-faced and groaned. “Lovely, I can’t explain how good that feels. Please don’t stop.” Scooping his Beloved into his arms Sherlock carried the Cupid to their bed remembering the moment they had first gone to bed together. It felt like yesterday that he had laid John onto his duvet only to have a very satisfied Soldier flip him onto his back and pin him. “Love you so much and I know you struggle with it. Sherlock, may I have you? May I show you? Please?” John had been heartbreakingly gentle with him. But this time John needed to be reassured and Sherlock was going to see to it that he knew, without a doubt that he was loved.

Now that Sherlock could touch his wings John was in awe of Love. Sherlock’s love and adoration flooded John’s heart as those long musician’s hands played Fortissimo a melody of Love, desire, protectiveness and lust through his quivering plumage. His shirt was a lost cause after that first physical touch so he tore at the split fabric but as his lover’s hands moved over his newly bared skin John whined involuntarily at the loss of wing contact. “Shhhhhhh, Beloved. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Delicate fingers returned to their petting and a steady grind built delicious friction between their cocks. This was going to be over too quickly and John barely had time to think of the noise they were making. Sherlock lay beneath him and John pulled his shirt off as the pleasure grew. A loud moan and heavy thud from next door made John realise he had been flapping his wing gently in time with his thrusts so he dematerialised them only to be rolled onto his back seconds later by a very determined Sherlock. “Love you, so much John. Love you.”

Sherlock kissed John desperately as he felt hard muscles in the body beneath him lock up. “Yes, my Beloved, yes. For me please .” He gasped out between kisses. He wanted to watch John climax, knowing he had brought his lover to the heights of pleasure. John writhed beneath him as he came, wings intangible but thrashing with John’s limbs. Sherlock groaned his release into John’s damp skin. “Like fucking teenagers." John gasped into his ear. “Clothes ruined, for Love's sake you’ll be death of me. Please, please.” Holding his Beloved close he gave them a few minutes to catch their breath before towing John to the bathroom to clean up the glorious mess.

….The Pips Start…

The next post was a cold case. It had arrived on a pink phone that was addressed to Sherlock and delivered by Lestrade via a bomb that had shattered the peace of a Sunday morning. Sherlock figured out that young Carl Powers had been poisoned years ago but his attempts to solve the murder had gone largely ignored as he was only twelve at the time. I couldn’t post about the bomber because it's an ongoing investigation. But Carl’s family have closure and Sherlock had brilliantly saved the day.

…

John uploaded his blog post and stared into his cup of tea. Sherlock was tidying up after his experiments but Molly’s boyfriend had John confused. Jim was clearly a Cupid but there was nothing John knew about him, clearly the man had become a Cupid before John had arrived or he would surely know. Delicate fingers began to knead at his shoulders. “What are you thinking Beloved? I know Molly’s boyfriend is a Cupid, surely that means he’ll look after her?” John turned to nod at his Lovely, his eyes seemed to glow, like blue lights in his face. John shook the thought off and enjoyed his massage. “I’m sure he will Lovely, or we’ll sort him out don’t worry.”

John had tried to coax him to bed but the bomber was still out there and Sherlock couldn’t let it rest. He’d kissed his Beloved, eaten some dinner but needed to do more research so John had gone to bed alone after firm instruction to join him before midnight. He had agreed and been rather surprised when he was lifted away from the couch at half past one in the morning and gently scolded to sleep.

…The Second Pip…

The next post was just an abandoned car, covered in blood. It was found quickly and solved even faster. A rental company offering a side service, a whole new life like witness protection or maybe witless protection as Sherlock caught them out within five minutes. So that was the company owner, the wife, and the disappeared husband all in it together. Sherlock’s quit smoking at last. Still no posts to the public about the Bomber but I think he gave Sherlock a hint on this puzzle. We’re trying to avoid public panic but I still think they need to be told at some stage.

…

John knew he’d been found out when Mrs Hudson intercepted him at the door after work. “What’s waving your wings Watson? Something’s bothering you John, you know you can’t hide it from me.” She’d had the good grace not to smack him but John could see it in her eyes. “Obsession.” It was a dark word amongst Cupids, Love had so much power but it could be corrupted. “Sherlock gets fixated on cases John, you know that. Don’t go looking for a fight that’s not there.” “I saw blue fires in his eyes the other day, thought it was a trick of the light but it’s there. And it’s not mine.” Mrs Hudson studied him gravely, as a BattleCupid he would be called to fight Obsession's blue flames anyway but someone was targeting Sherlock, and he couldn’t even tell his partner what was happening. “Love save us. Why don’t you two get out this evening? Get him away from the case and if he’s around other Cupids he’ll be safe.” “Unless one of the pub crowd are targeting him.” That did get John a smack. “Those are your friends and comrades John Watson.” She chased him to the stairs. “Bloody paranoid BattleCupids."

John got Sherlock out the flat by the simple method of tugging off his jumper and opening his wings to demand attention. He didn’t push anything from them but just gave the offer of spread plumage to his lover. “Beloved?” The quick scan was so intense John felt it against his skin. “I’ve been neglecting you my John.” Delicate fingers wove into his feathers and John sighed in relief. “Pub!” While he could still think. “Let’s hit the pub Lovely. Give us both some air?”

Sherlock trailed behind John into the building, quiet on a week night but it felt strangely safer than the flat. The case was obsessing him, he knew it was. This had been a good idea and as Ann and Ian rose to greet them he knew John would always keep him right. They were apparently a rarity, Partnered Cupids. The bond made some things feel too close. Ian, a MediCupid and Ann, a GuideCupid had lived in London for years and had been added to the small list called Friends Sherlock kept in the palace. He enjoyed Ian’s company as he was a polymath so they could discuss anything. Ann worked at one of the nearby schools, adolescents had plenty to deal with already. Her Love and guidance had made Ann so popular that some evenings they didn’t pay for drinks. Relieved parents had a habit of dropping off pitchers over weekends, date nights. And the two were strangely soothing company.

…The Third Pip…

The Connie Price case was sent to us next, I tried my hand at some investigation which went as well as expected. I made a fool of myself but at least the creepy cat seemed to like me. Sherlock had it solved after thirty minutes online along with a bit of snooping though the Home Office records. I couldn’t post that we lost the old woman, she had been so afraid.

…

“She’s in pain, and a Cupid, and you’re a doctor, and a Cupid… Why aren’t you a MediCupid John? You would be able to help.” “Sherlock, we don’t choose our essential natures that’s just who we are okay? And please explain, who is in pain” Sherlock was doing his Brain-Off line blinking so John sat down and thought… “Mrs Hudson.” The blinking stopped. “Mrs Hudson is in pain, how do you know? Why haven’t you told me!” “I’m observant and I’m telling you now!” “Well…” “I popped down to say hello and maybe collect some scones when I noticed she was leaning on the counter, she never leans on anything and there’s bruising on her arms John. She told me not to fuss but something is wrong.” John felt a fond smile try to come out. If Sherlock cared it was with all his heart and John felt his own wings drop in response to the stress and misery radiating off his so called sociopath. “I’ll… We can go look in on her okay? That way we can share the scolding.” He pulled Sherlock to his feet and just held onto him for a bit before they went down stairs.

Mrs Hudson was clearly not impressed, she had told him not fuss and now had an anxious BattleCupid in her lounge with nothing to fight. “Mrs Hudson please, Sherlock was only concerned.” Sherlock was conveniently studying the floor. “You don’t have to come to the surgery. Fatigue and bruising, it could be a number of things.” John’s wings were intangible but visible, locked low and open in invitation. Best get it over with. Returning the gesture wing met with wing and their frequencies communicated. John was clearly under stress and missing his partner, she would have to tell Sherlock to see that his Cupid got more affection.

Sherlock watched the display with interest, reading John’s condition in Mrs Hudson’s features and her fatigue in John. “Anaemic” John sighed and gathered his wings. “I’ll bring you some iron tablets from work tomorrow, easily done.” Sherlock smiled at his wonderful John, hugged his Hudders and followed his Beloved upstairs.

…The Fourth Pip…

I couldn’t post that the bomber had taken a child, we didn’t even know ourselves until the literal last minute. We got a stretch of the Thames which happened to have a dead gallery attendant laid out on it. Things got confusing after that, a woman was killed at the planetarium after phoning our victim, who was a casual astronomer. Sherlock, it appears has a network of the homeless in London who are his eyes and ears, it would seem some people will always be underestimated but Sherlock sees the value of the unseen. We almost got killed by a seven foot tall lunatic but Sherlock solved it in the nick of time.

…

John held on to Hope as those blue flames danced about his lover’s head. Nothing would save the Cupid responsible for those lights. Obsession. John felt his wings heat at the challenge, not for Sherlock’s heart! John knew that was his but for his… attention, as childish as it sounded, for his focus, that extraordinary mind. The obsession was trying to take it over.

Sherlock had linked the pink phone to his laptop in the kitchen but John’s brooding was distracting him. There must be something going on, John just didn’t sulk. The phone was stubborn anyway as he’d been trying for… seven hours! That explained the sulking Doctor in the lounge. “John? Beloved?” He didn’t want to admit he was reluctant to give up for the day but it was night, John had work the next day and his wings were oddly bright. Sherlock Holmes knew how to relax his Cupid though. “John, let’s go to bed.”

John watched Sherlock and the lights approach him, staring at his wings. “Bed, yes, bed. Lovely idea my Lovely.” The lights faded as they touched and John felt relieved as the lines of tension is Sherlock’s face faded with the flames. "Bed" Sherlock rumbled in his ear as agile fingers discarded John’s jumper, shirt, and vest, John found himself being herded towards the room and had Absolutely no objections.

…

The next afternoon there had been no activity on the phone and John wasn’t due home from work for ages. Sherlock had tried to set up an evidence wall but there was just too much so he had set the files on the floor and paged through each again and again. He’d texted John to bring dinner as Mrs Hudson had a bridge evening. John had said he’d be at the pub for a bit so he reshuffled the files from chronological order to monetary values and started reading again.

He was rereading everything by an ascending order of distance from central London when the pink phone went off at last! Not ringing, no pips just one short video. John. Hands bound, a bit bashed up and standing on the very edge of the swimming pool Carl Powers had died in. John, wearing enough semtex to level half of London… his John, and he looked demented with rage.

Mrs Hudson didn’t have a mobile phone but Sherlock couldn’t message anyone. That had been the rule all along. It was just supposed to be the two of them, but the bomber had taken John so Sherlock went to the pool, tucking John’s gun into his waist band as he raced out the door.

…The Pool…

John raised his wings threateningly as he saw Moriarty approach Sherlock and watched those same blue lights dance over his partner’s skin, the same dangerous heat. John ignited his wings with Passion to protect Sherlock and as he stepped up behind Moriarty he saw it. Moriarty was a Cupid but his wings were a ruin of sharp quills, Obsession. It was aimed at his Sherlock but John was a BattleCupid, fighting to protect Love was their defining trait so John raised his blazing wings and began to flap a steady rhythm. The effect should have been devastating but Moriarty raised his own wings and blue points of flame burned at the tips of each sharp quill still aimed at Sherlock.

Sherlock could see John gloriously burning with a passion he knew was for him but now he saw Moriary as Cupid too and the hideous wings he raised sent revulsion through Sherlock’s heart. He stepped around his previously fascinating adversary and timed his steps with John’s steady wing beats. Standing beside his Beloved, Sherlock chose, he chose the Love of John Watson over the twisted obsession Moriarty had clearly been pushing on him. Brave John hadn’t blamed him, he had just patiently stood beside Sherlock, loving him and he felt his heart burn with their shared passion. Settling against John’s side he unbound John’s hands then rested his cheek against silver-blonde hair as the red and gold of John’s fire swelled to a triumphant white hot inferno. The walls rang with Moriarty's outrage.

John watched Moriarty spread his malformed wings as the object of his obsession rejected him and then the idiot raised a gun, swinging the barrel towards Sherlock. He wasn’t even looking at John who pulled his Browning from Sherlock’s waistband and put a bullet through Moriarty’s right shoulder, the sick one went down screaming.

Hand in hand with his Lovely, John approached the bastard who’s love was only for himself and had become a poison. John watch him try to breathe around the pain. “Yeah, breathing is a bit of a bitch with that injury. I’ve had one similar myself.” Doors opened and Ian, Mrs Hudson, and almost every other Cupid in the city slowly filed into the room. A battle like this would have reverberated through the frequency of Feelings for miles and now it had to end. Mrs Hudson had seniority in the flock and she simply shook her head at James Nicolas Moriarty before turning her back on him and beckoning Sherlock out with her. John nodded Sherlock after her and the other London BattleCupids joined John in surrounding the fallen one. Ian placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Go, we’ve got this. You got the bastard John, we’ll clean up. Go to yours.” John nodded tiredly and turned to leave as Ian and five more joined hands and began to beat their wings. Moriarty burned in the fires of six sets of wings, there would be nothing left.

Sherlock stood outside waiting for John. It was a cold evening so he had tucked Mrs Hudson into his coat and a few more GuideCupids surrounded them. Gently rustling feathers calmed him but true peace was only in the man who approached him now. John had tucked his wings and just looked exhausted. Ann took Mrs Hudson carefully from Sherlock who dashed to John’s side and wrapped around him. It was over, the obsession had been Moriarty’s doing, the man had done so much damage Sherlock knew Moriarty was gone and felt no sadness at the loss of his most challenging opponent. Just relief.

…the next day…

Mycroft studied the heat haze shimmering over the BattleCupid's shoulders as John strode into his office. He had requested a debrief and after hours of listening to Sherlock insult his brother John had agreed to a meeting. He knew of his reputation amongst Cupids but hoped he could at least have a civil conversation, the doctor was always the more level headed of the two of them.

“Dr Watson, thank you for seeing me. I must confess myself surprised.” Mycroft watched as the haze bloomed across his office, clearly John was very angry. “Surprised Mycroft? Why? Because you leaked my medical records to the public because of your petty opinions, or because you poisoned your brother’s heart with those same opinions? I’m surprised I’m here Mycroft, there’s no body, you have no evidence against any of us.” Mycroft waited out the dressing down, it was earned. “Yes, my petty opinions. Fortunately opinions can change. Prior to this incident with James Moriarty I had not seen my brother for nearly six months, he’s not forgiven me for my actions regarding your employment… Our mother was informed.” The haze flashed a few times before settling to surround John’s frame again. “Upon my first sighting of Sherlock well I was relieved… John, if I may? He is clearly sober and I know he now attends pub evenings with yourself a few of your friends. I had never anticipated such behaviour from him… He is thriving, the Cupids.” Mycroft took a deep breath, getting to his feet he stood before John. “You have surrounded my brother with Love, your compatriots and yourself and he is thriving. I estimate he has picked up 15 pounds.” “He’s a bloody good cook.” Mycroft leaned back on his desk incredulous. “He cooks?” A shrug rippled the haze. “Chemistry” “Chemistry" They had spoken together. “I can only offer my apologies to you John, and to Sherlock if you would tell him. It seems he’s not speaking to me at this time and I hardly blame him.” John gave a nod and shook his hand. He felt a strong sense of peace watching the smaller man leave. Sherlock would be fine.

…

John’s toes curled. He lay across Sherlock’s chest with his wings spread over the mattress. He had returned from his meeting with Mycroft and Sherlock had pulled him into their room. Those clever clever fingers roamed over his wings aligning any problematic feathers and then stroking slowly as they chatted. “Will they reassign you?” “I don’t know Lovely, I just want to be right here.” He pushed his wing into the petting touch. “Why could I not touch them Beloved, when you first moved in. I know you had manifested them.” A twinge of guilt rustled though the white mass on his chest before John spoke. “I faded them, intangible, when you tried to. We'd just met and…” “I was a bit of a mess, wasn’t I. But it feels good now, doesn’t it my John?” He groaned as elegant wicked fingers gave his wing a gentle tug, the bastard.

"No more tricks Beloved, please?” Another gentle tug had John kneeling up to lift his wings away from that amorously teasing grip, fading them from reality. There was a whine as they faded. “You can have them back when you stop using them against me in intimate conversations Lovely.” In response a long leg wound about John’s hips, pulling him closer. “Care to use something John?” The shameless implication made him grin, Sherlock was demonstrative and incredibly sensual as a lover, who could refuse that?!.

He draped both of the legs on offer around his waist and leaned over a suspiciously pliant genius. “I know you’re planning something.” “But you can enjoy me while you figure it out.” That went straight to John’s groin, no point in denying it. Sherlock squeezed and a plush bum brushed John’s now very interested erection. “Distracting me.” “Well it is working. Leave the deductions to me John." Sweet lips claimed John’s mouth as Sherlock sat up into his lap. “Please Beloved?” John was doomed so he surrendered and slid his hands down to pull at Sherlock’s pants.

Getting a recalcitrant Sherlock to dress is a nigh impossible mission. He will always delay, no options, arguments will be started to avoid dressing. Undressing a eager Sherlock isn’t necessary, those huge hands slid over John’s and tore the cotton briefs away. “Very distracting.” A shudder rippled through John and his wings nearly manifested in the arousal between them as the same hands groped his bum before relieving him of his own pants. Sherlock growled into a kiss as he held fast to John’s shoulders before lying down again.

John took his time and seemed to take perverse delight in slowly things down after Sherlock had so helpfully rid them of their clothes. “Please Beloved.” He panted as John had prepped him carefully, eased into him delicately and was now gently rocking into him, right against his prostate. It was amazingly stimulating and John just steadily kept going. “Fuck meeeeeee.” He was whining now and had started to scratch at John’s neck and shoulders for leverage.

John smiled down at the needy mess beneath him, what a beautiful sight! He had succeeded to getting him to the pleading stage and only had minutes before the larger man would take things into his own hands so he lifted one trembling leg over his good shoulder and drove in. The answering wail of relief sent a shiver down his spine and his wings hit the air with a thump. “Oh Hello There!” Sherlock sounded far too pleased with himself as he stroked the top of one wing causing John to sway into the touch and throw his head back with a moan.

Sherlock held onto the wing, planted his foot and pulled John over as he rocked into the touch. John gave a sharp cry at the shocking sensation, yanking the wing against his body he curled around it before fading them and lying back as a tremor ran through him. “Oh Beloved! Oh my Beloved I’m so sorry!” Sherlock eased himself off of the startled Cupid and held him close. “I was too rough, I’m sorry John.” “It’s alright Sherlock, bit of a shock is all.” They finished up in a tender embrace Sherlock wrapped a leg over John’s hips and held on as John rocked slowing into him, bringing them both off with breathless gasps.

…Epilogue…

John had been offered early retirement. Mrs Hudson had explained that his injury had been instrumental in new war zone protocols and his work with Sherlock had been exemplary. The council had made the offer and John had accepted. Mrs Hudson had slyly suggested he was happiest with Sherlock and might remain in London, explaining to Sherlock that he now had to attend monthly meetings but that he could in fact stay had been one of the best days of his life! Sherlock had been beside himself at the thought that John might be reassigned.

Sherlock snuggled closer to the wings that now lay on top of him every night. He was keeping his John! His concerns that it was too early had been brushed aside when he’d escorted Mrs Hudson to her shopping so a gorgeous gold ring was waiting in his bed side drawer, but what better time than now! “John?”…

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love Saves The Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359825) by [Iwantthatcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat)




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